


One-shots and Flip Works

by Orcusnox (Cat9894)



Series: The Boys Wear Red And Are Black And Blue [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spiderman - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Flip Side AU, Hero!Wade, M/M, Merc!Peter, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat9894/pseuds/Orcusnox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains little one-shots that don't actually help the main story in any way. But I like them, so you guys can read them :3 As well as several chapters of chapters from TBWR told from different POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the Spider.

    He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His mind was blank, eyes staring unblinkingly at the figure that was falling in slow motion. He was moving without thought, fingers grasping desperately at handholds, forcing himself down with as much speed as he could manage.

    He knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t make it. Desperation had him flexing his wrist, webbing catching and breaking her fall with an audible _snap_. He continued to fall, eyes tracking the movements of her chest, but _there weren’t any_ –

 

* * *

 

    Dead, dead, _he’d killed her_ –

 

* * *

  

    Maniacal cackling from his foe above. “How could you, Peter?” The voice was familiar, raising the hairs along the back of Peter’s neck. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beautiful tragedy in front of him.

 

* * *

 

    His hands were shaking as they stroked through soft blonde hair. He could hear himself chanting ‘no’ over and over again, until the word became something more primal, a noise with more meaning than two simple letters.

    “ _Gwen_ ,” he croaked, shaking hands pressed against the sides of her face. “ _Gwen_.”

    But she didn’t answer. And she never would.

 

* * *

  

    His foot knocked the cackling Green Goblin from his board. He didn't remember leaving Gwen's side, but that didn't matter. The Goblin fell, a surprised squawk erupting from his mouth when Peter lunged after him. His fingers _burned_ with the desire to rip, to tear – a desire he’d only ever felt in the presence of one person, one person who he’d come to realize wanted _everything_ from him.

    But this one, this one… He killed Gwen, _he killed Gwen_ –

 

* * *

  

    “ _Peter_!” Harry roared, trying to shove Peter off him. But Peter tore mindlessly at the armour surrounding the body beneath him, eyes blank and dead – just like _Gwen_. Somehow, he wasn’t even surprised to rip back the mask to reveal the one person he _hated_. Not even the man who had killed Uncle Ben hadn’t managed to inspire as much hatred as the young man beneath him.

    “Stop!” Harry shouted, the command turning the word sharp and angry and Peter vowed then and there he would _never_ take orders from anyone again.

    No. Peter wouldn’t stop, because Harry hadn’t and now Gwen was _dead_ and Peter felt like his chest was an empty hole, desperate for _something_ to fill it.

    “You don’t need your heart, Harry,” Peter said, voice eerily calm. Harry stopped struggling beneath him, fear skittering across his expression. “I’m going to take it.”

 

* * *

  

    He didn’t take it.

    _He destroyed it._

 

* * *

 

    Harry screamed. Writhed. Screamed some more. Peter stared at him blankly, absently thinking he should record this so he could listen to it later.

 

* * *

  

    Gwen stayed dead. Peter couldn’t look at her body, dangling from the web that had killed her.

 

* * *

 

   Harry’s heart gave one last, pathetic twitch in Peter’s hands.

    {Helloooo handsome!}

    [This is going to take _ages_ to clean up.]

    And then there was nothing but darkeness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had this idea that I needed to write, and then I thought I'd share. Let me know what you think, this literally took me like 20 mins top to write.


	2. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade's POV from Chapter 5 of 'The Boys Wear Red...'

    Waking up blearily, eyes unfocused and unreliable, was something that Wade was not unfamiliar with. The odd ache in his bones – the kiss from Death, so to speak – was as familiar to him as the beat of his heart. Dying was not something he feared, not anymore – after all, being a hero was dangerous work. And there were very, very few heroes who were as durable as Deadpool.

    He squinted, narrowing his eyes so his focus was smaller. That usually helped his sight return quicker, helped him gain his bearings faster. Sometimes he woke and saw tables, science equipment. Sometimes he woke to the smell of garbage. There were even times when he woke to the clean, bright room that was his within Stark Tower. This time, Wade looked and all he saw was darkness.

    He realised, with a quickening of his heart, that he couldn’t quite remember where he was. How he had died this time. He couldn’t remember who had killed him. It unnerved Wade, because recollection usually came as fast as the bullet that had gone through his skull.

    If he concentrated, Wade could remember a taste. Oddly sweet, reminding him of something although he was sure he’d never tasted it before. He wasn’t one to eat sweet things – hell, pancakes were the only thing he really enjoyed. But ice-cream wasn’t so bad. And sweet Mother Mary, don’t even tease him with chocolate tacos, because that was just downright evil.

    There was a noise nearby, one that brought to mind the rustling of things in the dark, of tiny skittering creatures with too many legs and no fear. And that, in turn, made Wade’s mind turn to one particular Spider.

    “Of course he’s coming around,” a low voice snapped, and yes, that was definitely the Spider. A low click echoed, as though they were in a large, enclosed space. Wade groaned, tried to open his eyes a little wider. Light lanced through his head like a physical thing, pain screeching abruptly for his attention. He closed his eyes.

    “You guys wanted him here too,” the voice continued over the sounds of movement. “I know you always did,” he snapped, sounding oddly exasperated. “But White had problems.” A pause, as though the Spider was listening to a response, only it was one Wade couldn’t hear. “Like a fungus,” the Spider said, and Wade could _hear_ the smirk on his face.

    “H-hey,” Wade rasped, coughing at the sandpaper feeling in his throat. “Can’t a man die in peace?” He forced his eyes open again, ignoring the stabbing pain from the light in order to look around.

    The room was cold, white, _clinical_. It was, he thought, oddly clean, especially when he considered what the Spider’s apartment had looked like. The apartment he remembered because pieces were filtering through now, disjointed and scattered but still _there_.

    The Spider himself was perched on the roof, regarding Wade with brown eyes that had absolutely no business looking so innocent. He had on his suit, but had forsaken his own mask. His hair flopped about as he turned his head from side to side.

    “We let you die in peace,” the young man, the _kid_ , replied carelessly. His hands released the roof, and for a moment Wade felt concern surge through him. But of course the Spider didn’t fall. He stood, perfectly at ease being upside down, and then began to walk closer to Wade. “Now you’re waking up, and the fun can begin.”

    And _there_ , Wade caught it. In those brown eyes that seemed so innocent, in that face that looked too young to be anything of a threat. Wade saw the flash of cold, scientific curiosity, the twisting of the Spider’s expression that promised horrible things. He saw the pointed teeth hidden behind those plush lips, noticed the insanity that crawled across and beneath the kid’s skin. Wade watched the madness that was the pulse beneath the Spider’s pale skin.

    “What do you want from me?” Wade gasped, swallowing again and again, trying to relieve the pain in his throat. The rest of his body moved, instinctively reaching for escape. He was quick to realise there was none - the Spider seemed rather exceptional at tying people up. Wade shuddered to think where,  _how_ , he'd learned that.

    The Spider grinned, showing off his sharp little teeth. “Oh, Pooly,” he sighed dramatically, slapping a hand over his heart. “How you wound me. I don’t want anything from you.” He muttered something under his breath as he dropped elegantly to the ground, somehow twisting so that his feet hit the floor before his head.

    “But I made new toys, and everyone just dies so _easily_ , ya know?” The Spider licked his lips, staring at Wade, and no one could blame him for the shiver of fear up his spine, because that was the look prey received. That was the look someone received when they were well and truly trapped. Wade felt like a fly, caught in a spider’s web.

    “I don’t,” he finally said.

    A thoughtful look crossed the Spider’s young face. “No,” he agreed softly, “you don’t.” Something seemed to cross his mind, because a moment later he was grinning and clapping his hands together, the picture of a kid at Christmas. “And so you see, I get to _play_!”

    Wade flinched at the glee, at the words, because it was just _so wrong_. This was not what he had been expecting when he’d come here – and _he_ had come here. _He_ had approached the Spider. The odd worry he’d felt when days stretched into weeks and there was no sign of the quick, silver-tongued mercenary had ate and ate at him until he couldn’t _not_ go.

    “No!” the Spider snapped abruptly, whirling away from Wade. “We were in agreement before!” Wade watched, silent, as the figure in front of him – tall, lean, a _man_ but for the face – shook. With rage or something else, Wade couldn’t tell. “That’s not fun,” he whined, his hands dancing in front of him.

    When he turned, Wade was shocked to see his eyes were almost vacant. The Spider’s mouth was turned down in a frown, and although his eyes flickered from place to place, they were without expression. “I don’t care, White!” the Spider snarled, the anger etched into every part of his expression – except his eyes. “I can’t do that, you know I can’t.”

    Wade cleared his throat – it was feeling much better. “Uh, Spider?” he called tentatively. “Who are you chatting to?”

    The shift was startling. The eyes that had been blank, dead, were suddenly focused on him with an astonishing intensity. For a moment, Wade felt his breath stop. But then the intensity melted into something softer, something almost vulnerable, and Wade felt ice claw at him. That shift, that change, was not  _normal_.

    “You don’t need to worry about them, Wade,” the Spider said. “The boxes sometimes forget who’s in charge.” A deadly edge entered the Spider’s voice, and Wade was once again reminded that this was not some helpless young man – wasn’t some poor _kid_. This was the Spider, a mercenary renowned for his deadly skills. The stories people told had been, to Wade, just that – stories. But there was something unsettling about the Spider, something that went beyond _normal_.

    “We’re going to have fun, Wade.” The sound of his name slipping from between those pretty lips made him shiver. “So don’t worry.”

    As the Spider crept closer, all Wade could think was _how could he not?_


	3. Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief snippet from Tony Stark's POV on the day of the Spider Capture and the Spider Escape (chapters 5 and 6)

    Tony Stark was not having the best day.

    To begin with, he’d been woken at butt-fuck o’clock in the morning by a security breach in the kitchen – which turned out to be Wade, helping himself to the food in his fridge.

    “What the hell, Wilson?” Tony snarled.

    “Tony, buddy, hey! Good morning! Nice to see you awake before lunchtime.” Wade shot him a grin that was visible even beneath the red and black mask Tony hardly saw the man without.

    “You _woke_ me up.”

    Wade pouted. “I wasn’t _that_ loud.”

    Tony threw his hands into the air. “You set off the alarm!”

    “I didn’t _mean_ to,” Wade whined, and that was just seven different kinds of wrong. How the tall, broad, muscular hero could make his voice that damn high was none of Tony’s business.

    It was only after Wade had disappeared out the window that Tony had noticed the note stuck to his fridge. It had obviously been written by Wade – no one else had such child-like writing, and no one else wrote with a fucking _crayon_ – and only said ‘Tracker’.

    Tony, being the genius he was, realized that Wade wanted Tony to keep an eye on him. Which Tony was fine with – as long as Wade didn’t forget he’d left the tracker on and go to a strip club or something, because the trackers had audio.

    Tony turned the audio on around noon, because the tracker hadn’t moved for half an hour. That was so unlike Wade, Tony felt himself getting worried. When the audio picked up nothing but silence, Tony definitely got worried. He picked up his phone.

    “Stevey-boy! Listen, I think we have a situation.”

    “A situation?” Steve asked. He sounded busy.

    Tony nodded, even though Steve couldn’t see the gesture. “Wade nicked off this morning, left me a note to keep an eye on his tracker. It hasn’t moved for half an hour, and I just switched on the audio. I’m getting nothing.”

    He heard Steve pause in whatever he was doing. “Nothing?” Steve repeated.

    “Nothing,” Tony confirmed. “No wise-cracks, no one-liners. Nothing.”

    Steve exhaled. “Right. You, Natasha and Clint go and pick him up. Whatever mess he’s gotten himself into can’t be good if he’s not talking.”

    “Sure thing, boss man.”

    Tony had hung up the phone, and then paused, because there was something coming through the audio. He turned up the volume, expecting to hear Wade mouthing off about Death.

    “Oh, Pooly,” a voice said dramatically, and the hair along the back of Tony’s neck rose. He knew that voice. “How you wound me. I don’t want anything from you.”

    Tony didn’t bother to listen to anything else – he raced to get into his Iron Man suit, simultaneously calling Clint and Natasha.

    “The Spider has Wade,” he snapped as soon as they picked up. “Sending the address now.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Okay, so _maybe_ the explosion had been too much. But this was the Spider, with Wade – and judging from the audio Tony had been listening to, the Spider had been really eager to do his worst.

    When Tony caught sight of the knife in the mercenary’s back, he’d wanted to congratulate Natasha. But she’d looked baffled, so Tony had just assumed it had been Wade. But Wade had been too busy regrowing his entire arm. Which left Clint.

    Amazing as the guy was, Tony doubted he could toss a knife that far.

    So they had a knife, coated in a poison Tony had never seen before. And now there was an insane, unstable mercenary in the Tower. Could things get any worse?

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Yes.

    Yes they could.

  

* * *

* * *

 

 

    The Spider turned out to be a kid with brown hair and wide, doe-like eyes. Uncomfortably, he looked like he was still in school.

    Tony had taken shots at that kid. With the intention to kill.

    “Sir, are you well?” Jarvis asked. Tony sighed.

    “Just questioning past actions,” he grumbled.

    The AI paused. “Is this in relation to our guest in the Mirror Room, sir?”

    Tony sighed again. “Yes Jarvis.”

    “Do you think his crimes are pardonable because of his age?”

    Heaving himself to his feet, Tony picked up a piece of his suit. Trust Jarvis to get right to the heart of the problem. “I don’t even know how old he is, Jarvis. He’s not telling us anything.”

    “The full body scan I completed puts his age between 14 and 20. I allowed for the possibility of accelerated growth caused by whatever mutation resulted in his powers.”

    Tony put down the piece of metal. “14,” he repeated heavily.

    “The lowest estimation, sir. I do not think he is that young. I believe him to be above the age of consent.”

    “That still leaves me shooting at a 16, 17, 18 year old kid,” Tony replied sharply. “I’m supposed to be the good guy.”

    The AI was silent for a moment. “He has killed well over 1000 people, sir. And those are just the ones on record. There are thousands of people listed as missing in New York alone. It is not a leap of logic to assume at least some of those are victims of the Spider.”

    Tony grunted. “I’m going upstairs. Cap called a round table meeting, right?”

    “Yes, sir. Although calling it a round table meeting implies that the Avengers are knights.”

    “We’re modern day knights. We have uniforms and everything.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

    “Sir!” Jarvis said, as urgently as an AI could.

    Something exploded before he could reply. A cloud of dust emerged from a hall off to the side, and Tony felt his stomach drop. The Mirror Room.

    “Can you imagine his face?” the Spider cackled.

    Tony was thankful they were all together. When they rounded the corner and saw the Spider standing in the middle of the hallway, covered in dust and bits of glass… Well, Tony thought he’d have a heart attack.

    The kid had _kicked through a fucking wall_.

    The Spider threw them a quick, cocky salute with a shit-eating grin Tony wished he could punch off his face. “Catch you later!” he yelled, and then he vanished.

    Tony wasn’t really listening to the other Avengers – he was staring at the hole in his wall, mouth hanging open. “What the _fuck_ did he do to my wall?” he asked.

    “That’s not the issue, Tony,” Steve snapped, and Tony turned ready to tell him exactly how much of an issue this was, but Steve was already barking more orders. “Someone catch him!”

    “Sir, we have a problem,” Jarvis intoned, and Tony was _not_ in the mood for that level of sass from his AI.

    “I _told_ you this was a bad idea,” Bruce muttered.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    “You said the room was secure,” Steve said. He had his patented "Son, I am disappointed" face on, and boy did Tony hate it. The face should have been pointed at Wade, since it was  _his_ fault the Spider had even been caught in the first place.

    Tony nodded sharply. “There was no way he could have gotten out of there. He had no tools!”

    The Spider was gone. He’d jumped out of the Tower, swinging off into New York before anyone could even get close to him. Wade had volunteered to go after him, saying he had a brilliant plan to gain the Spider’s trust (highly unlikely), and Tony hadn’t seen Natasha since the Spider had broken loose.

    “But he did,” Bruce pointed out, a little more calm than anyone else in the room.

    Steve nodded. “He did. We need to know how.”

    “Sirs, if I may?” Jarvis cut in. “I found traces of blood on many of the smaller shards of glass.”

    “Blood from where he cut himself kicking out?” Clint asked.

    “I’m afraid not, sir. The blood was quite old.”

    Steve tapped a finger on the table. “What are you trying to say, Jarvis?”

    The AI seemed to hesitate. “I believe the Spider did not simply kick his way out, Captain. A full body scan has shown that, even allowing for super strength, the Spider does not have the necessary muscular structure to kick through a solid wall. He would need to be closer to your build for that to occur.”

    Clint smirked. “Kicked through any walls lately, Steve?”

    Tony raised a hand. “He didn’t have anything on him,” he repeated. “He had himself, his creepy webs, and that’s it.”

    Steve tapped a finger again. “Are you sure? It sounds like even a pin would have been useful to him.”

    Tony was about to reply, but his eyes were drawn to Steve’s tapping finger. The Spider had nothing. No tools. Just himself. Himself… Old blood on the glass.

    “No way,” he said loudly, shaking his head. “Jarvis, you have to tell me I’m wrong.”

    “You’ve been wrong on several occasions, sir, but you have always ignored my counsel at such times,” Jarvis replied. Damn the sass on his AI.

    “What is it, Tony?” Steve asked, and Tony had to grab his finger to stop the tapping, because it was making him feel nauseous.

    “Fingers,” Tony replied. “That’s how he got out. He dug into the wall with his _fingers_.”

    The room turned silent, mirrored looks on horror on everyone’s faces. Jarvis didn’t even bother to confirm Tony’s statement.

    Clint broke the silence with a low whistle. “He _really_ didn’t want to be here, did he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, special present. This little snippet came to me when I went back and read a comment by Achrya - they said _"I just picture the lecture Wade is in for later, with much Tony hand waving about his wall and Cap "Son I am disappointed." Face."_
> 
> I've basically finished chapter 16 and 17, started on chapter 18 of The Boys Wear Red, so hopefully 16 will be up this Sunday! Fingers crossed.
> 
> I hear it's finals time for some of you. Have fun with that.


	4. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback of Captain America's past interactions with the Spider. The last bit of this short is from Chapter 12 of TBWR

    Steve Rogers, more commonly known as Captain America, didn’t quite know how to handle the Spider.

    The first time they’d met, the person in the red and blue spandex had hopped around him with the excitement of a child, begging for an autograph. As he’d been in the middle of a fight – his opponent a giant green lizard that spoke (it said a lot about his experiences if he hardly blinked an eye when the report came in) – he hadn’t really had time to do anything other than knock the person backwards before he copped a killing blow.

    But his arm had never quite reached the person – who he had later been told was the Spider, a renowned mercenary who was, by all accounts, completely insane. Instead, the figure had somersaulted backwards with the grace of a gymnast and vanished.

    The next time they’d met, the Spider had been playing around with a severed head, using it like a soccer ball in a dark alley. Steve had approached, but the Spider had abruptly vanished into the shadows. Steve had wondered if the Spider remembered their initial meeting, and had even lost sleep that the mercenary thought Steve had been trying to attack him.

    Steve sighed and reached to pick up the head, wondering if he’d ever find the body. Something white shot from the shadows, sticking to the head with an audible sound. The head was yanked back into the shadows, and Steve stepped back, wary.

    “Don’t steal our toys,” came the hiss from the darkness, followed by a high pitched giggle. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that stealing is bad?"

    Steve had left the alley, goosebumps raising along his skin.

    He’d caught sight of the Spider several other times, mostly during fights. Steve hadn’t approached him again. The last time Steve had seen the Spider, he’d been unmasked.

    To say it had been a shock to see that the Spider – a mercenary who was famed for killing his targets in the bloodiest, goriest ways, for creating deadly, debilitating poisons, and for generally being merciless – looked no older than sixteen would have been an understatement. Steve had been so upset that he’d had to leave the observation room to gather himself. The knowledge that a child had been so far corrupted – how, he didn’t know – made his mouth taste sour and his stomach roil.

    Steve had visited what was left of the Spider’s surprisingly modest apartment with Clint. The damage to the apartment had been severe, and teams in white were still searching the wreckage for anything that might give SHIELD a glimpse at who the Spider was. Facial recognition – the technology still baffled Steve, so he tried not to think too much about it – had come back with nothing, and no one was going to try and get fingerprints from the Spider.

    There really wasn’t much. Steve might not be an expert, but from the blackened ruin, he could see only the remains of a bookcase and a desk, and several books scorched beyond recognition. There were no personal touches – unless you counted the thick webbing still attached in some places.

    “This was a mess,” Steve had said to Clint, who had merely grunted in response. “Why did Fury allow this?”

    “I don’t even know if anyone spoke to him,” Clint had replied grimly.

    There was something in the set of Clint’s jaw that made Steve leave it alone, instead of questioning Clint some more. After all, he had been on the ‘mission’. They had returned to Tony’s tower in silence.

    Now, standing between Tony and an angry Spider, Steve was struck again by how young the Spider was. The undisguised disbelief on his face when he realized why Steve and his team were here had hurt, especially when Steve remembered how excited the Spider had been the first time they’d met.

    “They blew up my house.”

    Steve barely suppressed his wince. Fury had had no explanation as to why he had allowed such an act to occur, and it wasn’t enough to say that Fury hadn’t known – Steve knew the Director had eyes and ears everywhere. There wasn’t any way Fury could have missed what the other Avengers had planned. There had been plenty of ways to stop them.

    And yet, Fury hadn’t.

    “I am aware,” Steve replied, glancing at Tony – no doubt, he’d been the instigator. Steve didn’t understand exactly why Tony had such an issue with the mercenary, but it was guaranteed that Natasha and Clint wouldn’t have gone to such extremes. Steve suspected the former assassins would have gone about things more quietly.

    (He didn't know it yet, but it turned out he was wrong on that count.)

    “And I assure you, Tony will pay for everything he destroyed –”

    Tony, predictably, cut him off, affronted. “Uh, where was I when I agreed to this?”

    Steve hardly heard him. He was too busy watching the Spider’s expression, the way it twisted into something disgusted and furious. Those eyes he now knew could look as innocent as a child’s at times turned hard and blank, and even Tony had enough sense to take a tiny step back.

    “Money won’t pay for what he destroyed,” the Spider spat, and Steve abruptly understood. They’d been looking at this the wrong way – the Spider didn’t care for things of monetary value. He had enough money to buy everything twenty, thirty times. The things that had been destroyed in the explosion – perhaps even the apartment itself – had had sentimental value.

    He didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, because the look on Wade’s face caught his attention. There was a quiet sort of affection on his face as he watched the Spider spit words at Tony. Wade stepped in, covering the Spider’s mouth before more insults could pass from his lips. Steve watched as the defensive tension bled from the Spider’s lean frame, and promptly looked away.

    Steve didn’t know how the team up would end. He didn’t know if there was any way to end this without killing someone, and he didn’t know who that someone would be. He didn’t know how Tony and the Spider would be able to work effectively as a team. But he did know, with the sort of iron certainty that left no room for doubts, that if anyone was going to be able to save the Spider from himself, it would be Wade.

    And if there was anyone who could save Wade, he thought, watching the two bickering back and forth like an old married couple, it was the Spider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to Simple, who said "You should do Captain America it would be cool to see his view of Peter."
> 
> Basically, Steve is giving the relationship a big stamp of approval (Except he totally doesn't think they'll be doing the nasty. That hasn't even crossed his mind. Sorry Stevey-boy!)
> 
> Hope you like.


	5. Would You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapters 15 and 16 of The Boys Wear Red - Wade realizes Peter has a lot of issues.

    It was somewhere between the 10th and 30th round that Wade dared ask. They were both laying on the bed, legs tangled together and chests heaving. The Spider was on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling with an expression of complete bliss.

    Wade still couldn’t believe they were where they were. It was disconcerting, how well the two of them fit together, like two puzzle pieces with completely different designs fitting seamlessly together. Wade found himself getting high on the Spider’s reactions. The gasps of surprise, of pleasure, the whines when Wade paused or pulled away, the low snarls that raised the hairs along the back of his neck when the Spider had had enough teasing…

    He liked the way the Spider writhed between the sheets, constantly in movement. He liked that his healing factor was fast enough that every time Wade fucked him, it felt like the first time. He liked the way the Spider looked at him, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide with pleasure, because then Wade could see the emotions in the other’s eyes.

    Not only that, but the kid was _sensitive_. Every touch made him shiver, and at first Wade had been worried that the scars bothered him, but it became apparent the Spider _liked_ his scars, liked the way they felt against his own mostly unblemished skin. Even now, he was unconsciously moving towards Wade, his lean body twisting closer – all because Wade was stroking fingers down his arm.

    No one had ever liked Wade’s scars. No one had ever _wanted_ Wade’s touch.

    And damn it all to hell if the Spider wasn’t attractive as fuck.

    The Spider was dangerous, he knew that. He'd been at Cap's round table meetings, heard the other Avengers cursing the mercenary every which way. Hell, he'd been on the receiving end of the Spider's temper enough times to know. Insane, unpredictable, bloodthirsty. A true villain, to be sure. But lying there, the room smelling heavily of sex and sweat, Wade found a courage he didn’t think he’d ever felt.

    “You don’t like yourself much, do you?”

    The smile he received in response was amused, even if those beautiful dark eyes were full of shadows. “Would you?” Peter asked, sitting up to stretch luxuriously. The low light cast shadows over his pale skin – unmarked, despite Wade’s best efforts.

    There were times when Wade thought he was wrong – Peter _acted_ like a monster nine times out of ten – in thinking that Peter could be saved, that he was worth saving. As Peter moved, lowering his mouth onto Wade’s cock, Wade couldn’t help but notice how fragile Peter seemed. Something held together by fraying string and broken chains.

    He’d been better, Wade thought, with Mimic. The girl gave him the creeps sometimes, but she and Peter got along well. Even the notorious ‘boxes’ seemed to like her. He glanced down, catching Peter watching him as he sucked Wade’s cock. Wade wove his hands through that thick hair, pressing his head down, down, down, until his cock hit the back of Peter’s throat and he saw stars.

    Wade couldn’t concentrate until after he came down Peter’s throat, watching the long column of skin swallow him down with ease. Peter didn’t seem to mind deep-throating, even seemed eager to do it. And that made Wade concerned.

    Wade had been to clubs before, and not the dancing kind. Clubs where the screaming and pleading were louder than the music, where it wasn’t uncommon to see people walking on all fours like animals.

    Peter made him think of those places sometimes. Especially when he sucked Wade’s cock. Partly because of the sinful noises he made while he sucked, hums and purrs of satisfaction that made him harder faster than he’d thought possible. Partly because of the way he held himself when he sucked, arms braced on either side of Wade’s hips and ass held high in the air.

    Wade had seen that exact pose many times.

    But mostly, it was the way Peter acted _after_. The way he murmured praises, kissing and licking his way back up to Wade’s mouth, pleased little noises emerging from his throat. The way he always made sure Wade was happy, the way he managed to put Wade’s pleasure before his own.

    The Spider wasn’t a caring person. He was selfish, cruel. He wasn’t the type to care about another person’s pleasure before his own.

    Wade could see the parallels in their behaviour, even if he didn’t think they were much alike. Wade liked making his partner feel good, was happy to put himself second. Wade liked leaving marks when he could. Wade liked his partner's  _participation_.

    He wondered, as he pressed a finger into the warm, tight heat of Peter’s asshole, if Peter acted the way he did in bed because he was more _Peter_ than the Spider. He wondered, as Peter arched his back and began to swear, if maybe they should have done this differently.

    But he couldn’t pretend. It was hope, he knew, that made him think this way. He already knew that the gag and the ropes weren’t the only things Harry had abused Peter with. Peter gave it away every time – he was doing it already.

    “Please, please, don’t stop, I promise, whatever you want, please…”

    “ _Si no estuviera ya muerto, yo lo mataría_ ,” he muttered darkly, and Peter came with a surprised gasp that made Wade’s chest _ache_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some feels. I'm going to go cry.
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Si no estuviera ya muerto, yo lo mataría - _If he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him ___


	6. Losing and Gaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mimic tells things from her POV during Chapter 13 and 14 of TBWR.

    “I don’t think you tainted me,” Mimic admitted, her heart heavy with the dark feelings she felt coiling in the young man in front of her. “I think this sort of violence was in me all along. I think it was sleeping, waiting.”

    “Waiting for me?” Peter asked, his voice bitter and his self-hatred choking. Mimic tried to wade through it, wishing she could push Peter back into the honey-sweet mindset he’d been in with Wade.

    Mimic shook her head, listening to the sound of Becket panicking. “Waiting for me to stop caring.” She pushed open the door before he could respond, keeping still as Peter – only, he wasn’t Peter anymore, he was the Spider – as the Spider leapt passed her, grabbing Becket’s arm and throwing him back onto the bed.

    “I don’t think so, Becket,” the Spider sneered, stalking closer with precise, even steps. “You can’t go leaving so soon. You haven’t even had a taste of our _hospitality_.”

    Mimic shivered. The physical changes that occurred when Peter turned into the Spider – for lack of a better way of putting it – were obvious enough that most people could tell. Peter was warmer, more relaxed. The Spider was sharp and cold and cruel, laughter purposely high-pitched and grating.

    But the mental changes were even more pronounced. Mimic didn’t think she’d ever met anybody who could _change_ their mind the way Peter did. And she didn’t mean he’d decided something and then changed his mind when something better came along. Everyone did that.

    Peter’s mind was mostly dark, filled with bitter thoughts and self-loathing that pulled at him, that dragged him ever deeper into a pit of despair that only Wade seemed capable of getting him out of. But there were flashes of light, because Mimic knew Peter liked her, knew he loved his science (even if he used it for slightly not good things), and knew he loved Wade.

    The Spider’s mind was… _Empty_. Blank and cold and _murderous_ , thoughts tossed aside in favour of instincts. Instincts she couldn’t read, not like thoughts. She felt blind, useless, when the Spider came out to play.

    The boxes… The boxes were like two other minds inside of Peter’s. They had their own flavours – the fizzy, energetic Yellow, and the coffee and dark chocolate White. They were unique in that Mimic had never _tasted_ someone’s thoughts like she tasted theirs.

    But the boxes weren’t good for Peter – they poked and prodded at his monster, twisting and turning logic until the darkness threatened to overwhelm Peter. At the same time, however, they were the guiding lights in his darkness. She didn’t doubt that they’d saved him as many times as they’d tried to destroy him.

    Theirs was a relationship Mimic didn’t think she’d ever understand.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Peter was intelligent. Receptive, intuitive. If she didn’t know any better, she thought Peter could have tricked her into thinking _he_ was the one who could read minds. Wade was much the same way, now that she thought about it.

    “The answer is that he _cares_ ,” Peter said, his voice almost sweet even as his mind turned dark and biting, sharp edges lashing out. “Sweet, I know.”

    “Makes your teeth rot,” Mimic agreed. Her eyes flickered over the gathered heroes as Peter explained.

    Wade was a crackling, headache inducing _nothing_. Finding out she hadn’t been able to hear him had been disconcerting – she could hear _everybody_ , hear _everything_. Sam – Chicken Wing, Birdy – was still trying to match up “the Spider” with the Peter in front of him. His thoughts were disgustingly simple, chasing each other around in circles that almost made Mimic smack him.

    Natasha’s mind was a little bit like Peter’s. Dark and deep, spiraling down, down, down. The hallways of her thoughts dripped red, blood spilling from the countless names scratched into the walls. The deeper Mimic went, the harder it became to breath – a combination of the crushing guilt and the sheer amount of blood that rose, trying to drown her.

    Steve’s mind was, like Sam’s, simple. But where Sam’s thoughts were spinning in circles, Steve’s thoughts were like soldiers. The Captain had a clear view of right and wrong, good and bad… A view that left very little room for shades of grey.

    “Mimic, what’s the word?”

    Peter’s question pulled her from their thoughts, and she responded almost before she even registered what the question had been about. “Charity case?”

    Peter’s mind picked at the answer before tossing it aside. “No thanks. No one wants to be thought of as a charity case. I was thinking more poster boy?”

    [Poster boy for what?]

    {Bloodlust and bombs?}

    “Rehabilitation, actually. You see, your dear Captain is thinking of me as someone like Wade was, long ago. Only, there’s a problem.”

    Realistically, there were several problems. Not only was Peter not Wade, like he was saying, he was fundamentally different to the scarred hero. Whatever plan Steve had used on Wade, it wouldn’t work on Peter.

    And Mimic didn’t want it to.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Mimic sat vigil by Peter’s bed. Wade had brought him back to the tower, unable to tell anyone exactly what had caused Peter to black out.

    Thankfully, Mimic wasn’t most people. So she dived right into Peter’s mind.

    And immediately wished she hadn’t.

    She’d come up almost an hour later, tears streaming down her cheeks and hands clenched into fists so tight her nails had cut into her palms. The Avengers – most notably Natasha and Tony – had immediately assumed that whatever she’d seen had been done _by_ Peter.

    Mimic hadn’t bothered to explain to them that is was happening _to_ Peter – instead, she shook her head slowly and walked away.

    It had been a few days since Peter had been brought back, and he was still unconscious. Mimic hadn’t yet left his bedside, although she knew she would eventually. Becket was still alive and relatively unhurt. That would have to change.

    Wade took a seat at her side – she hadn’t even heard him come in. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, keeping her eyes on the too still Peter.

    “Will you tell me?” he asked, breaking the silence.

    Mimic laughed bitterly. “I’m saving you by not telling you.”

    “I didn’t ask to be saved,” Wade replied, sounding offended. “I want… I _need_ to know.”

    “You can wait for him to tell you himself.”

    Wade snorted. “You and I both know he never will.”

    The silence returned, and Mimic wondered how Wade had come to know Peter so well. He wasn’t like her – he couldn’t see into Peter’s mind, couldn’t taste the emotions behind his words. She wondered if it was something everyone could do, or if that level of understanding only came when two people loved each other.

    “Please,” Wade said, his voice cracking.

    Finally, Mimic looked at him. “He’s trapped,” she replied slowly. Reluctantly. After all, this wasn’t her story to tell. “He can’t see. He can’t speak. He’s trapped – the ropes are too tight, and he can’t _think_.” Mimic took a sharp breath. “He knows where he is, doesn’t know that it’s all happening inside his head. He’s _living_ it.”

    Wade’s hands were clenched into fists. She couldn’t read his face through the mask. She waited, a little impatiently, for him to reply.

    “Harry,” Wade muttered darkly, and Mimic blinked because that was the name that was dancing with Peter’s fear, the name that felt like tar and darkness and nothing kind.

    “How did you know?” she asked, realizing she sounded frustrated.

    Wade’s lips moved beneath his mask. She thought he might be smiling – if he was, it was the single most terrifying smile she’d ever seen. “Partly because I read his file,” Wade admitted. “But I’m starting to get the idea that Harry wasn’t _just_ his friend-turned-enemy.”

    Mimic flicked her eyes around the room, marking the cameras with her gaze. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

    “The cameras are on a loop. They don’t even know I’m down here with you.”

    She blinked in surprise, eyeing the hero. “You’re more useful than you look.”

    “Thank you.” Wade paused for a beat. “You know more than you’re telling me,” he stated.

    Mimic smiled and nodded. “But it’s not my story to tell.” She inclined her head, indicating Peter’s prone form. “It’s his.”

    “What even is my life?” Wade put his face in his hands. “We’ve been dancing around each other for too long,” he said, voice muffled. “I didn’t think it would be so fucking _easy_ , you know? Sure, he’s adorable as fuck and has fantastic taste in games – he invited me over for an afternoon, but I don’t think he remembers it – but he just… He _kills_ people like it’s nothing.”

    “He hasn’t killed for a while now,” she said quietly.

    “But he will,” Wade replied. “Given half a chance, I can imagine him killing the other Avengers.”

    Mimic cocked an eyebrow. “The faith you have in him is _staggering_ ,” she said dryly. “He sort of likes them, actually. Except Widow.”

    “He _hates_ Tony,” Wade objected.

    “No, he likes to piss him off. There’s a difference.”

    Wade sighed, finally lifting his head from his hands. “I want to take care of him,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t think he’ll let me.”

    Mimic hummed, letting herself hover on the edges of Peter’s mind. The choking fear was trying to suck her in, but she held fast. “I think he’s too afraid to let you,” she said in reply, watching as Peter’s dreams twisted away from Harry to something nicer. “I think he’s lost too much.”

    “What’s he dreaming about now?”

    She looked at him sharply. “Are you _sure_ you’re not psychic?” she demanded, only half serious.

    Wade offered her a dry chuckle. “You relaxed. Whatever he’s dreaming about, it’s nicer than when I came in.”

    “Huh.” She looked back at Peter, leaning over to gently run her fingers through his hair. In his dreams, a woman with short, white hair did the same. “He’s dreaming about the past,” she said absently. “Before he was the Spider.”

    “Was he happy?”

    Mimic decided to ignore the way Wade’s voice turned brittle and cracked. “It could have been worse,” she said truthfully. “But it could have been better. It was the life he was used to.”

    “But he lost it all.”

    Mimic wondered what would have happened if the three of them had met under different circumstances. If Peter had managed to fight his demons long enough to see himself become a hero, if Wade had lost to his before he’d even realized he needed to fight. If she had blindly obeyed, if the drugs had worked like they were supposed to.

    But really, it didn’t matter. The here and now, that was important. And Mimic thought she couldn’t have been more grateful for the events that had brought them here, even as she watched Peter’s dreams shift again – there was a lake of tar, a swan, and hands that forced him under.

    “But he lost it all,” she agreed quietly as Peter drowned inside his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating one year of The Boys Wear Red with Mimic! Because a Mimic POV chapter was requested, here she is, in all her mind-reading glory. Also some Wade, because he was feeling left out.
> 
> (I realized I'd never really explained how Wade knew where Peter lived way back when, this is it. Anti-climactic, I know. Sorry not sorry)


	7. Self-Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapters 14 and 15 of TBWR

    _“Oh Peter,”_ Harry sighed, his fingers running gently thought Peter’s hair. Peter couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything – the blindfold was too tight, and if there were lights on in Harry’s room, they weren’t anywhere near him. Peter _hated_ being in the dark.

    People liked to tell him that night and dark were the same thing, but Peter vehemently disagreed. The night was a time for freedom, of noise and the flurry of life. Sure, there were dark alleys, but the city was _alive_ at night.

     The dark, on the other hand, was terrifying in its oppressiveness. Darkness, like he was experience now, didn’t sit well with his head. The absence of sight messed with his other senses, until he was sure something was in the room with, or he could feel cold, icy fingers sliding across his skin.

    _“Peter,”_ Harry repeated. _“I thought you’d learnt your lesson. I thought you understood how our relationship worked.”_

    Peter wanted to recoil – but he was too exhausted to move. He wanted to yell, scream, beg – but there was something in his mouth that turned his words into grunts. He’d been here so long he’d forgotten how he’d gotten here.

    _When_ he’d gotten here.

    _“I’ve been thinking about your punishment,”_ Harry continued, lazily trailing a hand down Peter’s spine. Peter shivered. _“You know what you did, don’t you?”_

    At this, Peter could only shake his head, whimpering low in his throat. The last time this had happened, Harry had caught Peter talking to a classmate in an empty classroom – alone. There had been nothing suspicious about it, nothing wrong – the two had been paired up for an assignment that Peter consequently failed.

    He _knew_ he hadn’t done anything wrong. Not that he could remember. But Harry saw things differently, and for him to be acting like this, Peter _must_ have done something.

    _“You were about to sleep with another man,”_ Harry informed him in a pleasant tone. The tone sent shudders down the length of Peter’s body. That tone meant Harry was properly mad, angry enough to keep him locked up for _months_.

    But then the words registered, and Peter made a sound of confusion. He would never betray Harry like that! He was many things, he knew, but he wasn’t a bad person.

    [Are you sure about that?]

    Peter found the strength to sit up, eyes wide beneath the blindfold. That hadn’t been Harry. That hadn’t even been a real voice – it had been in his head. Dark and a little too serious.

    {He can hear us! Wake up, Spidey!}

    Peter felt his breathing speed up. Another voice, this one high and fast and a bit too idiotic for him to take seriously. What was happening to him?

    {Hey!}

    [Spidey, you’ve had a long fucking nap. It’s time to stop letting him rule you.]

    {He’s an asswipe, remember?}

    _“Don’t listen to them!”_ Harry snarled, fingers squeezing around his throat.

    Harry could hear them?

    {Hey, he’s not like our Spidey, is he?}

    [He’ll wake up normal.]

    {What happens if this is normal now?}

    [It won’t be.]

    {Okay. Hey Spidey, remember Wade?}

    “Wade?” Peter whispered, blinking. The room around him began to dissolve, and he heard Harry howl once if fury before the sound of his voice vanished. “Wade?” Peter repeated, reaching with his hands into the darkness. Wade was important. He had to get to Wade.

    The first thing he grabbed was sticky. He almost let it go, revolted, but instead pulled it closer to examine it.

    Red. Red and red and red and red….

    Peter recoiled, tried to wipe his hands clean, but the colour wormed its way beneath his skin, staining his hands, staining him.

    [Not much you can do about that,] the first voice said dryly. [You’re the one who wanted to know.]

    Peter found himself nodding and reaching back into the darkness. This time, his hands closed around something sharp and cruel, something that threatened to devour him even as he pulled it out of the darkness to study it.

    {What is it?}

    “Betrayal,” Peter replied quietly. “Revenge. Despair.” The mixture melted into him – he felt it move to his chest.

    [There’s more out there. Are you sure you want to know?]

    Peter answered by reaching into the darkness again. He knew, somehow, this would be the last time, the last memory he would find.

    The moment his fingers touched the last memory, tears began to fill his eyes. He was sobbing by the time he brought it into the light. Peter fell to his knees beneath its weight.

    “This is…” he gasped for air, tears streaming from his eyes. “This is loss. And hatred.”

    [These are the things that make you the Spider.]

    “But… I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I’m Spiderman.” And he was, he recalled now. His memories were returning, trickling back to him with a resistance that reminded him of tar.

    {Peter Parker died.}

    [The Spider replaced him.]

    {You were buried.}

    [You received the Spider’s protection.]

    {But then that asswipe showed up. That was all White’s fault, by the way.}

    [Harry messed with the balance we had. He woke _you_ up.]

    {And now the Spider’s gone to sleep instead of you.}

    [We need him.]

    “Why?” Peter asked. His tears had finally stopped, but he could feel them lingering just behind his eyes, ready to flow again.

    [You’ve been asleep for a while. You’re… hungry.]

    Peter snorted. “I’m perfectly capable of eating.”

    The second voice giggled. {No you’re not!}

    [The Spider requires different food now,] the first voice explained. [Your disappearance forced a secondary transformation, one a little more… disgusting than the initial one you experienced.]

    “What do I need to eat?” Peter demanded. “I feel like you’re dancing around the issue.”

    {Just tell him!}

    [He’s not going to like it.]

    {Then he can disappear and we get Spidey back!}

    The first voice sighed heavily. [That might not work.]

    {Worth a shot! Sorry Petey-pie, we eat people now!}

    Peter’s mouth dropped open. “People?” he repeated.

    [There were a thousand different ways you could have gone about that.]

    {I chose the most direct method!}

    “I eat people?” Peter demanded hysterically. “I can’t eat people! I _protect_ people! What would Aunt May say about this? I’m assuming she doesn’t know.” There was a short, heavy pause.

    {I don’t wanna tell him.}

    [Jesus Chr – you can’t have it both ways!]

    {But he’s just so _innocent_!}

    [Yes, he’s fucking adorable. This is _exactly_ why we need Spidey.]

    “I’m missing something,” Peter said needlessly. “What haven’t you told me?”

    {Sweetheart, we haven’t told you a _lot_.}

    [Your Aunt May is dead. So is that blonde chick, and Harry the asswipe.]

    {Also everyone who ever knew you.}

    “Dead?” Peter whispered. “I don’t… They’re _dead_? Aunt May, Gwen? _Harry_?”

    {Yup.}

    [All dead.]

    {The ‘everyone else’ part was all you, though.}

    “Everyone else?” Peter repeated faintly. The darkness around him seemed to snarl.

    {That sounded like Spidey.}

    [That definitely sounded like Spidey.]

    “Wait! You haven’t told me anything! What do you mean, everyone else?”

    {Tell him!}

    [But Spidey – ]

    {Oh whatever! Spidey isn’t here right now.}

    [If we get chewed out, I’m blaming this all on you.]

    {What’s new?}

    [You remember the Green Goblin, right?]

    “I – yes. He wanted the formula.”

    [Yes, that’s him. Do you remember who he was?]

    “I found out?”

    {Oh boy, did you ever!}

    [It was Harry. Harry was the Green Goblin.]

    A memory smacked him – Gwen, falling. Him, reaching. The Green Goblin – _Harry_ – laughing.

    [You couldn’t have reached her.]

    {You did try.}

    [You tried your best.]

    “Harry… Harry killed Gwen?”

    {And then laughed about it afterwards. Man, he’s such an asshole.}

    [You killed Harry.]

    {Retaliation.}

    [Revenge.]

    {Same thing.}

    Peter felt something coil around his ankle. “What’s that?” he asked in alarm.

    [{Spidey!}] the voices chorused.

    “What have you been telling him?” Peter snarled, only it wasn’t his voice. It was darker and colder and altogether more sinister than he had ever imagined his voice could be.

    [Nothing.]

    {Everything!}

    [You idiot!]

    “I told you,” Peter hissed, but he wasn’t speaking. His mouth wasn’t even moving. It had to be someone else. “We would keep it from him.”

    [Why are you so worried?]

    {All that will happen is – }

    “You don’t get it!” The thing coiled around Peter’s leg was slowly engulfing his entire body. He couldn’t move, but he wasn’t scared like he’d been before. Something filled his mouth, muting him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He could see out of one eye, though.

    Another version of himself stalked into the light, all sharp movements and predatory grace. The other him had paler skin, sharper features, and brown eyes that looked disturbingly like glass. The other Peter had teeth sharpened, and Peter remembered the first voice’s words.

    “He’s the only thing keeping me remotely human,” the other Peter said. “If he vanishes, so do you.”

    [How do you figure that?]

    {We’re _your_ boxes – }

    “You think spiders have boxes?” the other Peter growled. “You two would vanish with him. I would _degrade_.”

    [You mean…]

    “Yes,” the other Peter said firmly. “That’s exactly what I mean.” The other Peter turned to stare at Peter, their eyes catching so that Peter felt like he was looking into a bizarre mirror. If he could have Peter would have jerked back.

    Peter could remember the memories he’d found in the dark. Betrayal, revenge, loss, despair, hatred. And blood. So much blood. There hadn’t been a shred of remorse.

    In the last second before Peter was swallowed back into the darkness, the other Peter’s face twisted, fell. And Peter remembered that there were different kinds of hatred.


	8. Musical Notes

    Of course Stark had a piano. Of course it was a grand piano, shiny and new. Peter’s fingers twitched, suddenly wanting to feel the smooth ivory keys.

    [It looks like it’s never been touched.]

    {There are no bloodstains on it!}

    Peter drifted closer, running fingers over the too-shiny lid. “Bloodstains don’t mean it’s never been used. That just means it’s never been used by someone who has a habit of coming home drenched in blood.”

    [That guy was creepy.]

    Peter nodded, finding himself sliding onto the piano bench. “Who bathes in the blood of their victims? That’s just gross.”

    {What are we playing, Spidey?}

    Humming thoughtfully, Peter gently pushed the lid up. He tapped his fingers over the keys, not hard enough to produce any noise. “I remember our first piano teacher,” he said quietly, setting his fingers more firmly on the keys. “Absolute bitch.”

    He started to play. Simple, fun pieces that brought an unconscious smile to his face. After a few minutes, he moved on, fingers dancing to the familiar tunes of Lady Gaga and Evanescence.

    {Can’t read my, can’t read my, no he can’t read my poker face!}

    “She has got me like nobody,” Peter continued, laughing when White decided to join in with his own lyrics.

    And then Peter changed the music again, fingers racing across the keys in a complicated dance that was only possible because of his spider powers. He melded several Two Steps from Hell songs, his head filled with the parts he couldn’t play.

    [Why not some classics?]

    Peter snorted, his fingers still moving even as he turned his attention to the boxes in his head. “These aren’t classic enough for you, White?”

    {We don’t like Beethoven!}

    “Yeah, Beethoven is boring!”

    [Bach?]

    Peter giggled. “I’m Bach!”

    [Mozart?]

    {He’s a tart.}

    [Stamitz?]

    Peter wrinkled his nose. “Who?”

    {He sounds like a scitzy person.}

    “You mean schizophrenic.”

    {No, I mean scitzy!}

    “Scitzy isn’t a word,” Peter pointed out. “It keeps getting a red underline.”

    {So does Stamitz!}

    [That’s a name.]

    “I could play Bella’s Lullaby,” Peter warned, his fingers slowing down.

    [Anything but that.]

    {Haha! You said but!}

    “What as that, White? You _really_ want to me?” Peter smirked. “If you insist.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

     Peter was in the kitchen, eating some left over pancakes, when Widow and Barton swept in.

    Now, usually when Peter was in the kitchen – or anywhere in the Tower, really – the Avengers avoided him. Like the plague. Peter didn’t mind – it wasn’t like he _wanted_ the Avengers to like him, no matter what the boxes thought.

    Peter blinked at them, his next bite halfway to his mouth. The two assassins regarded him silently.

    [This is creepy.]

    {Retreat?}

    Very carefully, Peter slipped from his seat, balancing his plate of pancakes on the tip of his finger as he backed out of the kitchen. The two did not follow him.

    […That was weird.]

    {What the ever loving fuck did those two want?}

    “I can only think of one answer,” Peter muttered. “And it involves blood.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

    He found himself back at the piano. He was _bored_ , but with Wade gone on a mission, there was no guarantee he would be brought back to the Tower alive. Peter sat down with a sigh.

    “Any suggestions?”

    [There should be a song that perfectly describes our feelings right now,] White grumbled.

    “If there was, it would be called “I’m so god-damn bored”,” Peter replied.

    {Let’s make it up!}

    “Fine,” Peter huffed, setting his fingers against the keys. “Ladies and gentlemen, children and boxes, this song is called “I’m so God-damn Bored”, written and performed by the one and only Spider.”

    He played for an immeasurable amount of time. The song graduated from slow, solemn to hard and fast and annoyed in a matter of moments. Fingers dashed across the keys, pedals pushed with almost too much force. Peter eased up, suddenly aware that he could very easily break the piano.

    Peter stopped playing abruptly, standing in a fluid movement. His knives were in his hands as he whirled around, spider sense tingling along the back of his neck.

    “Who’s there?” he snarled.

    [We were whipping up a fucking masterpiece!]

    {Why’d you go and ruin it?}

    “Fucking rude ass Avengers,” Peter agreed. “My musical genius was flourishing, and then you had to go and ruin it. Damn, did no one ever teach you not to interrupt a work in progress?”

    Peter hurled a knife at the air vent. It hit something decidedly alive, if the grunt of surprised pain was anything to go by.

    [Who hides in the air vents, quiet as can be?]

    {Some fucking Avenger!}

    “That didn’t work. Your bit, Yellow, not White’s. White’s bit was lyrical genius!”

    Barton tumbled out of the vent, landing on his feet with a sour – and maybe slightly impressed – expression on his face. He pulled the knife from his shoulder with a wince and dropped it to the ground.

    “Was that _necessary_?” he demanded.

    Peter pointed his other knife at him. “You were in the vents! Why were you in the vents? Do you live in there?” He giggled. “You have a little Hawkeye nest and everything, right? Right?” Barton opened his mouth to reply, but Peter held up a finger. “Because if the reason you’re here _isn’t_ because I woke you up, pulled you from your nest with my amazing skills – which I’m sorry for, if that’s the case – I’m going to put this next knife somewhere a little more _fun_.”

    His spider-sense tingled a warning, and Peter dodged Widow’s knife.

    “Ganging up is _mean_ ,” Peter pouted, jumping up to the relative safety of the ceiling. “Two assassins against a little merc like me? I don’t stand a chance!”

    “Honestly, Nat said you played and I didn’t believe her so I decided to watch the piano and see if you actually showed up,” Barton said in one breath. “I owe her twenty bucks.”

    [What? No!]

    {We made Widow rich,} Yellow whined.

    “Twenty bucks is hardly rich,” Peter snapped. “But I shudder at the thought of helping Widow get _any_ money. Although Barton isn’t much better.”

    [Better Barton than Widow. Bitch still hasn’t apologized.]

    “She’s never going to. She thinks she was in the right.”

    {She was obviously in the wrong.}

    “Obviously,” Peter agreed.

    [I think we should abandon the piano until further notice.]

    “But I’ll be _bored_ ,” Peter whined. “I _hate_ being bored.”

    {We could sneak out! Go see Mal again.}

    “I don’t even remember where I saw him last time.”

    [I do.]

    “You do? Then let’s go! We’ll abandon the piano and find ourselves entertainment outside!”

    Needless to say, the two assassins did not let Peter leave the Tower. But Barton asked if he would play again, so there was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because apparently I can't let this story go


	9. Because I Trust You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing bit of action between chapters 19 and 20 of TBWR!

    “Because I trust you, silly.”

    Wade rocked back on his heels, staring down at Peter with shock on his face. “You what?” he croaked.

    Peter grinned up at him, wrapping his arms around Wade’s waist and burying his face into Wade’s chest. “I trust you,” he repeated into Wade’s scarred skin, arms tightening for a moment.

    As much as he liked the younger man, Wade found himself unbelievably concerned. After all, the kid trusted _no one_. He’d heard Peter talking to Mimic all those weeks ago, knew that trust was something Peter saw as a hindrance. Wade took a fortifying breath and gently pushed Peter away.

    “ _Why_?” he asked, trying to ignore the way Peter’s mouth turned down and his eyes shuttered and turned blank. “Not that I don’t think it’s great that you at least trust someone, because that’s good, it is… But why _me_?”

    Peter blinked, his eyes brightening again. The way Peter could _change_ like that still bothered Wade, still put his instincts on alert, but he knew now that that was just the way Peter was. It wasn’t his place to try and change the mercenary – hell, Wade doubted he _could_.

    “Why not you?” Peter replied. “You’re better than any of _them_.”

    _Them_ meant the Avengers, and once again Wade found himself completely baffled. He couldn’t understand Peter’s apparent disgust when it came to his comrades. So Tony and Natasha hadn’t exactly been _welcoming_ , and yes, maybe Tony wasn’t being exactly _pleasant_ …

    Yeah, okay, maybe he wasn’t _completely_ baffled.

    “As much as I appreciate you saying that, because I do, I promise… They’re not the bad guys,” Wade said. “They want to help.”

    Peter cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “They want to _fix_ ,” he corrected. His attention shifted, away from Wade, and Wade waited patiently for Peter to finish whatever conversation he was having in his head.

    “We are not _broken_ ,” Peter continued. “We don’t need to be _fixed_. We’re _better_ than who we were – stronger, faster…” He snickered to himself. “Harder.”

    Wade couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m trying to be serious,” he said.

    “Do stop,” Peter drawled. “We don’t like serious. It’s boring.”

    “Just this once?” Wade asked. Peter pouted, poking his bottom lip out in an unfairly adorable expression before inclining his head. Wade took a breath. “You told Mimic you don’t trust people,” he said. “I don’t understand what it is about me that changed that.”

    Because Wade wasn’t an idiot. For all that he tried, there were still instances where he’d failed, where he’d made the wrong decision. He _hated_ those moments, did his best to forget them – and was sometimes successful. But mostly… Mostly he couldn’t forget, and sometimes those memories kept him up at night.

    Captain America. Now _he_ was a real hero, someone you could always place your trust in. The man Wade looked up to was more than just someone he aspired to be – Wade _loved_ the man, more than he had ever loved his own father.

    “Sometimes, Wade,” Peter said softly, bringing Wade out of his head. “Sometimes you are _incredibly_ thick.” He paused, frowning, his eyes flicking to the left like they always did when the boxes were talking. “No one asked for your opinion, White,” he muttered, a dangerous edge entering his voice.

    “Should I be taking offense?” Wade asked lightly, smiling at Peter. He didn’t mind what the boxes said about him – he was more worried about what they said to _Peter_.

    “Ignore him,” Peter said. “He’s being an idiot. Nothing new there.” The corners of his lips turned up as his eyes flicked to the left again.

    “Why do you think I’m being thick? I’m guessing this has nothing to with my cock…”

    Peter snickered, fangs flashing in the light when he smiled. “No, not this time,” he said with a wink. “This time it’s to do with that _horrible_ image you have of yourself, and the way you put the Avengers up on a fucking pedestal.” By the end, Peter’s eyes had grown flinty and any trace of amusement was gone.

    “They’re _heroes_ ,” Wade replied.

    Peter poked him hard in the chest. “So. Are. You,” he hissed. “And if you try and tell me you aren’t fit to be a hero because of some stupid thing, I’m going to hit you.”

    “Oooh, spank me!”

    Peter huffed on another laugh. “I thought you wanted to be serious.”

    “You may have had a point with the whole ‘serious is boring’ thing,” Wade admitted.

    Peter blinked at him, a calculating expression falling over his face. “That’s not all though, it is?”

    _How_ was he so good at reading him? They’d known each other for the same length of time, but Wade always seemed to be guessing, while Peter went right to the source, sure and confident.

    “You know they’re not actually saints, right?” Peter asked. “They all have a past. They all have something they’re ashamed of.”

    Wade wrinkled his nose. “How do you _do_ that?” he demanded petulantly.

    Peter smiled, the expression warming his usually cold eyes. “I _know_ you, Wade,” he said softly.

    “That’s not _fair_ ,” Wade whined.

    Peter’s smile turned into a smirk. “Are you having trouble figuring _me_ out?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Wade’s waist. “Are you admitting defeat, Pooly?”

    “No,” Wade replied stubbornly. “I’ll figure you out. Your boxes too.”

    Peter laughed. “Yellow’s swooning,” he said. “White’s making death threats.”

    Wade snickered. “What’s he gonna do? Think me to death?”

    “Now _there’s_ an idea!” Peter exclaimed. Wade rolled his eyes and dragged Peter onto the bed, quietly content that he hadn’t yet managed to figure Peter out.

    _Yet_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry it took me so long to finish this. And that it's so short. But here's a little bit of what happened between the "I trust you, silly" and "Hands off the goods, lady!"
> 
> I'll probably come back and edit this later on, I think I've started too many things but the ideas just keep coming and I can't stop them...
> 
> Anywho. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!


	10. The Broken Gather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony drinks. Wade has a go at comfort. I'd say this is probably set just before chapter 21 of TBWR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Reagan, who requested a Tony POV chapter based on the file and consequent drinking!

    Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

    Tony glared at the empty bottle of scotch until it blurred and turned into two empty bottles of scotch. Or maybe there really _were_ two empty bottles of scotch. That didn’t make him feel any better, and he groaned as he pushed himself to his feet.

    Most people, if they’d had as much to drink as Tony, would be on the floor, crawling their way to the toilet if they hadn’t already passed out. But Tony was a drinking expert – for him, this was hardly anything.

    “Sir, it is recommended you drink a glass of water,” Jarvis intoned, managing to sound both disapproving and worried.

    Tony waved a hand. “Shut up, Jarvis,” he grunted, hardly slurring his words. Well, maybe a little.

    “Mr Wilson is on his way up, sir,” Jarvis said.

    Tony couldn’t tell if his AI had left him alone or if no time had passed. He couldn’t say how long he’d been standing at his bar, staring at the liquor shelf blankly. He wasn’t sure if his hand was steady enough to pour himself another glass.

    “Tony?” Wade called, actual worry in his voice. Christ, how long had it been since someone had said his name like that? Like they were worried about him, rather than just exasperated with him?

    Tony was pretty sure the answer was “since Pepper left”, and he never liked that answer. So he pretended he didn’t have an answer to the question, pretended it was rhetorical.

    “Tony!” Wade exclaimed, and Tony felt heavy hands on his shoulders, steering him away from the bar. “How much have you had to drink? Have you had any water? Man, I feel sorry for you plebs with your shitty ass healing, but I wanna get drunk too, you know? Like, how unfair is that? Hey, Tony?”

    Tony felt a gentle smack to the side of his face. He looked up, glaring blearily at the red and black mask. He couldn’t help but feel relieved – if he saw Wade’s face, there was a chance that his already upset stomach would riot, and he never wanted to hurt Wade like that.

    “Stay with me, alright? Holy crap, did you finish that whole bottle? That is _impressive_ , but I could totally out drink you. Hey! I should have a drinking contest with _Thor_.”

    Tony choked on a laugh.

    “Wanna tell me what the occasion is?” Wade asked, pushing him down onto the couch.

    Tony snorted. “Your fucking boyfriend,” he replied, “is making me drink.”

    He wasn’t drunk enough to miss the way Wade’s body tensed. The other man was silent, hands carefully wiping blood from his hand – what? Had he cut himself? When?

    “That stupid file, Wade. So fucking clinical and detached…”

    “Whoever wrote it is a monster,” Wade agreed quietly. He pulled several bandages from one of his pouches.

    “You weren’t surprised,” Tony said. “You already knew about everything?”

    Wade nodded. “Read a similar file. Wasn’t quite as bad as that one we found, but it was pretty bad.”

    “And you never told us?”

    Wade stopped and looked at him, the white eyes of his mask narrowed. “Peter trusted me with that information. I told him I wouldn’t say anything.”

    It was strange, hearing ‘Peter’ instead of ‘Spider’. Tony let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. Wade turned his attention back to Tony’s hand.

    “Mr Wilson,” Jarvis said, breaking the quiet. “May I enquire as to why you haven’t told the Spider that we know of his identity?”

    Tony wondered when Jarvis had become such a nice guy – the AI was still referring to the kid by his mercenary name. Potentially because the kid himself hadn’t given him leave to call him ‘Mr Parker’.

    Wade hummed. “He would run,” he replied. “And I’d never see him again.”

    “I doubt he will be happy upon finding out you kept this from him,” Jarvis pointed out. Tony made a sound of agreement.

    Wade sighed. “I guess I’m fucked either way,” he said. “But I _will_ tell him.”

    “Harry sounded like a dick,” Tony said, head woozy. “If he wasn’t already dead, I think Nat and Clint would have taken care of him.”

    Wade laughed, and it wasn’t a very nice sound. “Not if I got there first.”

    “I tried to kill him,” Tony said.

    Wade reached up and poked him in the forehead. “Most of us did at one point, you know.”

    “But he’s a kid! I just…”

    “You just needed to drink the knowledge from your head?” Wade asked. “How’d that work for you?”

    Tony grumbled. “He’s fucking eighteen, Wilson. What the fuck were you doing at eighteen?”

    “I ran away from my old man and joined the military,” Wade replied. The edge to his voice made Tony want to hit himself – he _knew_ what Wade had been up to at eighteen, knew the shit he’d had to run from.

    “When _I_ was eighteen,” Tony said, glaring blearily up at the ceiling, “I was… I was… Jarvis, what the fuck was I doing at eighteen?”

    “You created my core coding when you were eighteen, sir,” the AI responded. “In addition, you spent much of your time skipping your lectures and consuming far too much alcohol.”

    “Thank you Jarvis,” Tony muttered. “Where would I be without you?”

    “Arrested, sir.”

    Wade laughed, abruptly reminding Tony that the other man was still there. “How far you’ve come,” Wade said with a wink. He sobered quickly. “Tony, don’t drink yourself stupid over this. Peter’s… He’s not your average eighteen year old, you know. Hell, he wasn’t even your average _sixteen_ year old.”

    Tony groaned. “You’re not helping,” he said, voice muffled by his arm.

    “My _point_ , Tony, is that there’s no point feeling sorry for him,” Wade said. “He’s… He’s _fine_ , in the loosest sense of the word. And I’m pretty sure he _likes_ that you take him so seriously.”

    “I’ve been trying to kill him,” Tony snapped.

    Wade nodded. “And if that doesn’t scream acknowledgement, nothing will.”

    Tony was obviously too drunk for this conversation because Wade wasn’t making _any_ sense. “Me trying to kill him doesn’t mean I acknowledge him,” he replied, because even when he was drunk he couldn’t say ‘I don’t understand’.

    “Sure it does,” Wade said cheerfully. “If you didn’t think he was a threat, you wouldn’t try and kill him.”

    Tony puzzled on that for a moment. “So he wants to be a threat?”

    Wade sighed, glaring at his boots. He was still crouched in front of Tony, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the holster of one of his guns. Tony blearily wondered what day it was.

    “He _is_ a threat, Tony,” Wade finally said, his voice too quiet and too serious. “He’s a threat to SHIELD. He’s a threat to the Avengers, individually and as a team. But mostly… Mostly, though, he’s a threat to himself.”

    “Mister Wilson, I desire clarification,” Jarvis said. “You would like Mister Stark, and by extension the rest of the Avengers, to continue to treat the Spider the way they have always treated him?”

    “Yes.”

    “Why?” Tony demanded, baffled. “We’re mostly complete assholes to your boyfriend!”

    “And if you start acting differently, he’ll know something is wrong,” Wade replied firmly. “Plus, he _likes_ playing around with you and Nat.”

    Tony dropped his head back onto the couch. “I need another drink,” he groaned.

    “I think you’ve had quite enough, sir.”

    Wade chuckled. “You’re taking this better than Banner,” he said. “He almost went green on me – I think he was mad about the whole ‘you knew and you didn’t say anything’ thing. But I _promised_! He’d never have liked me if I betrayed him.”

    “Go away, Wilson,” Tony grumbled. “You’re going to give me a hangover.”

    “You mean a headache.”

    Tony waved a hand. “It’s the same thing.”

    “Not _really_ …”

    “That fucking kid,” Tony muttered. “ _Fuck_.”

    “That’s it, let it all out,” Wade said.

    “Shut _up_.”

    “Hey, I’m being hella supportive here! I could be a complete jerk, but I’m not.” Wade chuckled. “I think Peter would want me to be a dick to you, you know.”

    “I have no doubt,” Tony replied dryly. He closed his eyes. “I’m not saying I like him,” he added. “But I can… I can see why he went the way he did.”

    Wade was quiet, and Tony was beginning to think the masked man had left. “That could have been me,” he said, his voice so soft and broken that Tony forced himself to open his eyes and _look_. Wade looked small, hunched so close to the ground, huge arms curled protectively around his knees. “That could have been me, Tony,” he repeated. “And I see the way you treat him, and I can’t help but think – what if it was me?”

    Tony stared at the other man, words failing him. “Wilson,” he began, but he couldn’t think of anything to say after that.

    The two of them sat in silence until Wade rose with a cheerful, “I gotta go, don’t drink anymore!”

    And the sad thing was, Tony could almost fool himself into thinking the fragile Wade he’d seen crouched in front of him had been some sort of hallucination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... This did not end how I planned. But I like. Because Wade hasn't let Peter see him when he's vulnerable, and Wade has his fair share of issues as well. He's just been pushing them aside to help Peter. So here's Wade having some issues, and then bouncing back because that's what he apparently does best.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	11. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's POV, Chapter 23 of TBWR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For AvidAnon. Thank you for the request!

    “Why are _you_ in _here_?” Clint demanded. “This is _my_ spot.”

    Natasha blinked at him, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “I needed the quiet,” she replied, before returning to stare contemplatively at the silver walls of the vent.

    Clint waited a beat. “Nat, this is _my_ spot,” he said, a hint of a whine entering his voice.

    “I need the quiet,” she repeated. “So shush.”

    Clint sighed. “Why do you need the quiet? What’s wrong with your room?”

    “You’re not seeming to grasp the concept of _silence_ ,” Natasha said.

    “Oh, I can grasp the concept of silence. You just have the look about you that says you need to _talk_ about it. Not… _Silence_.”

    Natasha tore her eyes away from the wall. “I don’t have a _look_ about me.”

    Clint grinned. “You do. We’ve known each other long enough for me to pick up on these things.”

    “Oh shut up,” she grumbled. She shifted over so that Clint could fit in the vent too.

    “So?” Clint said once they were settled. “You’ve been stroppy ever since Peter came back. It is about him?”

    “…Yes,” Natasha replied.

    “You don’t like the kid?”

    Natasha rolled her eyes. “No,” she said.

    Clint pursed his lips. “Any particular reason? I mean, he’s an alright kid if you give him a chance.”

    “I don’t want to give him a chance,” Natasha muttered.

    Clint narrowed his eyes. “Is this about the piano? Nat, really?”

    “It’s not _just_ about the piano,” Natasha replied. “But that is part of it, yes.”

    Clint made a humming noise. “He’s a nice kid. Polite, but he’s got that little bit of sass about him that makes me think he’s not a total pushover. And he makes a _mean_ spaghetti.”

    “I don’t care.” The truth was, Natasha had _liked_ the Spider. As much as he’d poked and prodded and generally been a horrible person – but after reading the file, she understood him a little better – she’d enjoyed his company. And he really could play the piano fantastically. Sometimes, she even felt like dancing along to the music created by those slender, dangerous fingers.

    It had been a long time since she’d wanted to dance willingly.

    “You’re not even making an effort,” Clint said.

    “No,” Natasha agreed. “I’m not. He’s… incomplete.”

    Clint tapped a finger against the vent. “You’re talking about the file, aren’t you? You think Peter’s ‘incomplete’ because he hasn’t experienced the things that make him the Spider.”

    “He _is_ ,” Natasha replied. “I know you think it’s better he doesn’t know, but it’s important, Clint.”

    “Pre-Spiderman,” Clint said thoughtfully. “What do we know about him?”

    “The abuse with Harry Osborn would have just begun,” Natasha replied. “It’s not bad enough for anyone to notice. His uncle would still be alive, and his aunt. He would have been just a _child_.”

    “But you think that kid needs to remember what happened to him.”

    “ _All_ experiences are important, Clint. Good, bad… He may _mentally_ be pre-Spiderman, but what happens if his body reacts in a way more like that of the Spider?”

    Natasha watched the understanding flash across Clint’s face. “I see,” was all he said, but she knew that he could see all the possibilities she could, all the potential for chaos and horror.

    “Not to mention, he’s probably being tortured by ‘the boxes’.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed.

    The Spider hadn’t exactly been forthcoming in regards to the voices in his head, but there was enough evidence for Natasha (and probably a few of the other Avengers, including Clint) to piece together a jagged picture. Two extra voices in the young man’s head, one sullen and serious, the other more like a hyperactive child. Both pushing the Spider to do things he didn’t want to.

    It was no wonder the young man was listed as volatile.

    Clint sighed. “And ‘Peter’ isn’t equipped to deal with them. Alright, I’m starting to see your point. But… He seems fine.”

    “For now,” Natasha replied. “The calm before the storm.”

    “Better buckle down, then.”

    “What do you think I’m doing in here?”

 

* * *

  

    The storm came faster than either of them thought – the next day, Peter showed up in front of the gathered Avengers to say he couldn’t join. He stammered out an excuse that Natasha didn’t believe a word of, especially when she saw the scratches – self-inflicted – running down both sides of his face.

    She didn’t bother looking at Clint – the ‘I told you so’ was loud and clear in the blood drying on Peter’s face, the half-wild look in his eyes as he addressed the Avengers.

    Peter was the picture of a man breaking beneath the weight of his own mind, burdened with a past he was not responsible for. This was _exactly_ why she hadn’t bothered to get close – she was familiar with the pain of losing people. And she knew a lost cause when she saw it.

    After the informal meeting, Natasha found herself standing by Tony’s piano, her fingers brushing over the cool ivory keys. She could remember the way the Spider played, knew that she could replicate it easily, the patterns ingrained in her mind… But it felt cheap. Dirty.

    If she wanted to hear the melodies again, she would have to be patient. Peter was breaking, and it was only a matter of time before the Spider re-emerged. Until then, she would wait.

    Innocence had no place in the Tower, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been sitting unfinished for _ages_ so I thought I'd better get around to finishing it. This certainly didn't go the way I planned, and I think I learned a bit about Widow with this. She's definitely a more complex character than I initially imagined.
> 
> Let me know what you think?


	12. First Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's first human meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For AvidAnon, who requested this ages ago and I just felt like writing it now. Hope you enjoy~
> 
> Lots of warnings, gore, blood, cannibalism being the main ones but there are a few more; kidnapping, drugging children, stalking, idk what else to tag?

    Peter was _hungry_. 

    He couldn't tell why – he'd eaten enough fast food to feed a school so far, but the aching in his gut hadn't abated. In fact, it had gotten worse. 

    {I'm _hungry_ ,} Yellow whined. 

    [We all are, you moron,] White snapped. [But we have a job to do.] 

    Peter giggled. "Jobs are for slobs," he said, absently poking his bulging belly. The food he'd just eaten was digesting, but even now the hunger pangs were back. "I'm hungry," he said needlessly as his stomach rumbled threateningly. 

    [Look, we just have to scare this guy and then we can go find something to eat.] 

    {What? Not killing him?} 

    Peter pouted. "Where's the fun in that?" he whined. "I want to spill some blood." 

    [The contract specifically said to _scare_  him,] White said. [I don't think we get paid if we kill him.] 

    "I never said anything about _killing_ ," Peter said, stroking the handle of his kerambit lovingly. "Just... _bleeding_." 

    Yellow giggled. {Let's do it! Come on, White, don't be a spoilsport!} 

    [Fine,] White said with a long suffering sigh. [Let's make him bleed.] 

    Their target, fortunately, was in a neighbourhood where no one would think twice about someone calling for help. This suited Peter's needs exactly, considering that the blood would come with plenty of pain for their victim. 

    "What did this guy do, anyway?" 

    [Don't know.] 

    {Don't care!} 

    Peter considered that for a moment before shrugging. "Works for me," he said, and made his way into his prey's house. The door was basically open for him, which was lovely. It was like he was being invited in. 

    {So thoughtful,} Yellow said with a giggle. 

    Their prey was sleeping on the couch, snoring gently. Peter spent a moment watching the rise and fall of the woman's chest before he took a more detailed look around the room. Photographs of children littered the floor and walls, and Peter picked up one, idly wondering why the woman wanted so many pictures of children. 

    [That's creepy,] White said. [They're all different kids. I thought they'd be of her kid.] 

    {But they all look pretty similar,} Yellow pointed out. {Blond hair, blue eyes.} 

    [Why does she have so many pictures?] White asked, sounding as baffled as Peter felt. 

    {Maybe she just likes looking at them?} 

    Peter cocked his head. "You don't think..." he began quietly, eyes flicking towards the sleeping woman. 

    [That what, she's a child photographer?] White demanded sarcastically. 

    Peter pursed his lips and wandered through the flat, taking note of the recording equipment – expensive, probably stolen – and the locked door behind which he could hear several heartbeats. He paused by the door, eyeing the lock. 

    {Um, aren't we here for blood?} Yellow asked. 

    "Even better if there's a _reason_  for me to spill some blood, right?" Peter asked, snapping the lock and opening the door. 

    Five boys slept in cots, their breaths deep and even. Were it not for the drips in their arms, Peter would have thought them peaceful. 

    [Oh boy...] 

    {What the actual shit?} 

    Peter took a breath, curling his lip as the scents registered and memories niggled at the back of his head. He shook it, trying to clear it. 

    "Who the fuck are you?" 

    The woman didn't wait for a response – with only a split second warning of his spider sense, Peter ducked to the left and dodged the first swing of the kitchen knife. The wrongness of the entire situation became even more obvious when the boys didn't wake up as the woman stumbled and slammed into the wall. 

    "Ooooohhhhh," Peter said, his voice still whisper soft. "Someone has been _very_  naughty." 

    [You know what? I say we just kill her.] 

    {What? I thought you wanted _money_.} 

    "Yellow's right," Peter said. " _You_  wanted the money for scaring her." 

    [I know, but those kids...] 

    Peter hummed, casually knocking the woman's arm away when she tried to swing at him again. "I know, it doesn't sit right with me either. So what do you say?" he asked, grinning beneath his mask. "Should we turn this into a party?" 

    "Get the fuck out of my house!" the woman shouted. 

    Peter immediately lunged for her, his hand slapping across her mouth with a sharp sound. "Oh hush, sweetheart," he murmured, easily overpowering the struggling woman. He reached over and broke her grip on the knife, and then broke her fingers for good measure. "You've been a _bad_  girl. And what happens to bad girls, hmm?" 

    [{They get punished,}] chorused the boxes. 

    "Exactly," Peter agreed. He threw the knife away, letting his hand settle around the woman's throat. "I could squeeze the life out of you right now, you know," Peter said, his tone conversational. "But I'm not going to. Do you want to know why?" 

    The woman stared at him with fearful eyes, her pulse hammering underneath his palm. He wondered idly if the childrens' hearts had beaten this fast when she'd taken them. 

    "Because that's no _fun_ ," he whispered. "And I'm all about fun." 

    Fuck, but he was hungry. There was something about the woman that made the hunger kick back up, hunger clawing at his belly even as he thought of a thousand ways to make her _hurt_. His mouth flooded with venom, something that usually only happened when he was ready to kill, and so naturally he lifted up his mask and opened his mouth to spit it out... 

    Except his fangs were abruptly buried in the woman's neck, and he could _feel_  his venom pumping into her system, flooding it. It took barely a moment for her to be writhing in agony, and while a small part of Peter was rejoicing in her pain, the majority of his mind was overtaken with the simple fact that she was starting to smell _good_. 

    Peter breathed, his fangs still buried in the dying woman's neck. He could tell he was waiting for _something_  but he had no idea what and so he just stayed still, barely comprehending the slow breakdown of the woman's insides and the silence in his mind. 

    Somehow, he _knew_  when it was over, when it was perfect. He swallowed greedily, anticipating something that tasted as good as it smelled. 

    The moment it touched his tongue, he wanted to spit it out. It tasted _awful_ , and he gagged even as he swallowed another mouthful, and another. There was no denying how his hunger was abating, how each swallow seemed to fill him up even more. 

    By the time he couldn't drink anymore, the woman was barely more than a mummified husk. 

    {That was fucking _gross_ ,} Yellow said when Peter dropped the body and stepped away. 

    Peter panted, trying to look away from the woman's expression of horror. "What the actual fuck?" 

    [Are we going to have to do that every time we get hungry?] White demanded. [Because that was just _nasty_.] 

    Peter couldn't help it – he rushed over to the sink and threw up, gagging as the taste rolled over his tongue, somehow more potent now that it had been in his belly. The worst thing was, the moment he'd finished throwing up, the hunger was back, somehow worse. 

    [Are you telling me we have to do that _again_?!] 

    Peter groaned. "Nooooo..." 

    {What do we do about that?} Yellow asked, and Peter glanced at the body. 

    "What do people normally do with mummified husks of people they've eaten?" Peter responded. He blinked. "Do you think this means I don't get paid?" 

    [She's dead. We were going to be paid to scare her.] 

    {It’s a no from me.} 

    "Now I'm hungry again," Peter whined, flipping open his phone and sending a text to the anonymous police tip line. He wandered over to the room with the children in it and tugged the drips out of their arms. "Let's go find ourselves something to eat!" 

    [I am disgusted by your excitement.] 

    

* * *

* * *

 

 

     Needless to say, they didn't get paid. But Peter thought the satisfaction of a full stomach outweighed that disappointment. 


End file.
